


It's Not the Fall That Kills You, Clint

by From_these_ashes



Series: Wounded Hawk [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, POV Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 04:57:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11890506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/From_these_ashes/pseuds/From_these_ashes
Summary: Clint hasn't been taking care of himself since finding out Phil died. Natasha tries to snap him out of it.





	It's Not the Fall That Kills You, Clint

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is the first fanfic I ever wrote so go easy on me. I waited a LONG time to post it because it was my first attempt at writing fanfiction and wasn't sure it was "good enough" to be posted because of that, but I hope you enjoy! Title explanation in the end notes.

He sat on the rooftop, knees pressed to his chest. Cold. He could almost feel it as the rain stung his skin. Numb, as somehow his cold dead heart continued to beat. _Oh broken heart, broken heart, how can you beat? Broken heart, broken heart, why must you bleed?_ His tattered mind rambled on as the rain traced his face. It felt like crying, and in it he found relief, the sensation blurring the fact his tears had run dry today. He wished he would cry. He’d become used to the pain. It’s what he deserved. _Phil, my Phil…_ his heart lamented. Phil was dead and it was his fault. Loki killed him and he helped. It didn’t matter if it was directly or not. Phil was gone, and nothing could fill the hole in his heart that seeped blood red. _I need you! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… Phil! Please…_ His heart screamed and faded to a whimper, too depleted to actually give voice to the grief that shifted inside, rubbing him raw from the inside out. He lowered his head into his arms, wordless sobs racking his body as the tears began to flow. _It’s my fault. I deserve this, I deserve worse than this. Do you miss me? Or do you blame me too?_ The fear had plagued his nightmares, too many times he was confronted with a dying Phil or screams of “Why didn’t you save me?” He shivered as he sobbed, not sure if it was from the cold, and not really giving a damn if it was. He let the rain continue to pour over him, he deserved it. Maybe if he endured enough punishment he could be forgiven. He let the cold rain sting and dug his nails into his biceps to stop himself from flinging himself off the building right there and then. _I’m so sorry… please forgive me. I just want you back. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m so tired Phil. There’s nothing for me here, I want to be with you, but I know I fucked up. I understand if you’re angry with me, and I’m not trying to be selfish, but I don’t think I can live without you much longer._ He fumbled to retrieve the sharp arrow head he’d slipped into his pocket earlier. _I deserve it._ He pondered the tip in his hand, But for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to do it this time. Phil wouldn’t have wanted that, would he? Weeks of slowly bleeding out inside had clouded his mind. _Yes, I screwed up, but Phil loved me didn’t he? Have I screwed up again? Is he mad I’ve been taking things out on myself? I can’t get anything right! I’m so tired Phil…_

\--------------------------------

Natasha found him the next morning, curled up on the roof of an old bolt hole of his, still soaking wet from last night’s rain. She slipped the arrow head she found next to him into her pocket before slowly running her hand through his hair, trying to wake him in as gentle a way as possible. Glancing over his body, she feared how easy it would be to just pick him up and carry him. His eyes finally fluttered open and she saw the brokenness in them, seeing only numbness where a light used to dance.

“How are you feeling?” He clenched his eyes shut and said flatly “You weren’t even supposed to know about this place.”

“Ptichka, I know all of your places.” He opened his eyes just so he could roll them.

“OK, maybe not all, but I will always find you.” She was worried.

“Now get your butt up, I didn’t save your ass just so you could freeze to death.” There was the Natasha he knew, but steam rolled out of his nostrils as he indicated with a grunt that he couldn’t care less, so she yanked him to his feet and started pushing him to the stairs. He went along with her because it was easier than resisting, also he knew he didn’t stand a chance of going up against her in this state. He let her push him inside.

“Shower. Now.” She commanded, staring him down, and he took only a second to consider disobeying. He knew that tone, he would shower whether he wanted to or not. Reluctantly he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower as hot as it would go. He watched the steam roll around the room before stepping into the spray, the steam an accurate portrayal of the fog inside his mind. His mind blanked, an old coping mechanism of his so he washed his hair for what might be the tenth time, he didn’t know and he didn’t care, but he moved the shampoo this time in case he spaced out again. It was easier not to think right now anyway. Eventually he turned off the water and got out, just because he feared if he took too long Natasha would barge in and check on him. Apparently she already had. He found a pile of clean clothes waiting for him. Annoyed at not noticing (or not remembering, either was just as likely right now) her interrupting his shower, he none the less tugged the clothes over his body and walked out the door. He forgot he was still beet red from the hot shower.

“Ptichka, you need to stop with the whole self-torture thing. It was NOT your fault.”

“It’s not like that, I was just cold, I… It didn’t even hurt.” He stuttered.

“Liar.” She glared at him. She somehow always knew when he was lying. But I’m not lying completely, it didn’t hurt. It was supposed to, but it didn’t.

“Sorry, it really didn’t hurt though.” She sighed and flicked her eyes to the chair pulled out at the table, and then back to him. He sighed back before walking over and letting himself fall into the chair. She looked at him, arms crossed in annoyance so that he could pretty much tell what she was thinking:  _That was graceful._ He ignored her and turned his attention to the soup before him. He wondered where the hell she had got it from, had he been in the shower that long? But he didn’t ask. Instead he took the spoon and fiddled with it, knowing the soup would be tasteless to him, no matter how good it really was. His eyes landed on the mug a few feet away. Hope fluttered in his chest as he picked it up before he smelled the contents.

“Tea? Seriously Nat? What the hell?” She still stood with her arms crossed, watching his every move.

“You need rest. Whatever sleep you got last night doesn’t count. You can have coffee ONLY when you’ve had enough sleep and start taking care of yourself. This has gone on long enough.” But he didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to risk Phil walking in his dreams right now. It would tear him apart.

“I don’t need a damn babysitter, Nat.”

“Yes you do…” Phil’s voice argued in his head.    ... _Oh, shit._

His eyes flung wide and without a thought he raced out of there faster than he should have been capable of. The pain was too much. He ran on instinct, a wild animal spooked beyond reasoning. Noticing, but not caring about Natasha running a good 20 yards behind him. She followed him, but gave him space. She expected him to run towards Phil’s grave, as he had so many times, even though it was miles away from here. She didn’t know what to think when he ran in the opposite direction, away from all civilization, out into the woods instead. _Was he trying to move on?_ His feet continued to pound the earth, but the adrenaline was wearing thin and his tired body needed rest. His legs shook but he continued to run. Running away, because he just couldn’t let go. Finally he collapsed, falling into a broken pile in the mud, splattering it around him. Natasha kept her distance as he turned to the sky and screamed.

“I don’t know what you want me to do! I tried to fight him, I wasn’t strong enough! I know you want me to stay but what’s the point? I couldn’t save you, how am I supposed to keep anyone safe? I can’t do this!” Exhausted, he let his head fall to his chest as tears ran down his face. Natasha slowly approached him, ignoring the mud as she crouched next to him and wrapped her arms around him as he sobbed. She murmured, “You need to try.”

He leaned into her, too far gone to feel ashamed. His heart cried, _I don’t want to try Phil, I want to be with you! Please, let me join you._ But he knew that’s not what Phil would’ve wanted. He would’ve told him he had a job to do, because that was just like Phil. Worrying about everyone but himself. He smiled at that. Maybe he could do this, if he fought not for himself, but the one he lost. Avengers... It fit. Loki would pay. _You’re not taking anyone else on my watch. No one deserves to lose someone they love._ Natasha stroked the back of his head, not saying a word.

“Phil? Don’t worry, I’ll look out for everyone for you.” He promised, to Phil and himself. He stayed like that for a while longer before he got up, feeling for the first time in months how battered and weak he really was. God, he had let himself go. Natasha looked up at him before rising, seeing the determination that shone in his eyes as he looked down at her. She smiled, her relief was visible as she stood. Her hawk was going to make it. For months he’d been diving headfirst towards the ground, but he’d finally opened his battered wings to catch the air. He might have to struggle, but he was trying. He would fly again. And she would be there for him, through the good and the bad.

“Are you hungry?” She asked. He licked his chapped lips.

“Starving.” He replied, smiling weakly back at her. He could do this. After all, he had a job to do.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is referring to the metaphor at the end, about Clint being a hawk and finally opening his wings to catch the air after diving towards the ground for so long. And it's a reference to BBC's Sherlock, because why not?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Like it? Hate it? Let me know below!


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